11 - On Falling, Letting Go And Your Moment

There are times the world seems against us. There are times we just don't know what to do, which decision to make. There are times everything seems to be closing in on us, threatening to engulf us in its ugliness. We want it to end. Indeed, there are times we just want to end it all in some way. These are the times, my friend, that tell of your greatest potential and of your gift to the world. And, no, these may not feel like times for words like potential and gifts, especially concerning you! Indeed no!

They seem like times of potential and gifts for everyone else … but not you. They may seem to be times that you're singled out by God for misery and dread, while everyone else has potential and gifts. Why me? Why now? Why this? When will it end? How can I end it?

The questions rage round your mind like viscious dogs, snapping at your every good thought, every quiet moment, every desperate attempt to believe in something holy about yourself. They bark and snap and tear at the very fabric of your being, giving you no rest, no peace and nothing left to grasp for.

Whatever is left for you to cling to crumbles to dust as their claws flail the ground beneath you. The cliff edge your bleeding fingers weekly claw at is falling, stone by stone, to the abyss below you. You will follow soon. You know this is inevitable but still you grasp another stone … that drops away … and you grasp another and another.

Though the inevitable is ready to take you, you cling on there, ever more desperately and despairingly each moment. Something keeps you here. You are still here. Against all odds you are still here and, despite the ferocity of the gnashing dogs in your scull, you can afford yourself a smile - a grim smile that you're still here, a soft smile as a small light glows, however dimly through the dust and blackness. As your smile softens, that light, that dim light moves, changes, imperceptibly. This light … is it growing? Is it moving? Yes! It is moving toward you, growing, growing ever so slowly. Your soft smile spreads across your face, around your fevered brain and down your neck. The light is closer, bigger, brighter, stronger, as your smile flows down your body, through your arms. The light is an arm's length away. You want to touch it, feel its warmth but you do not let go. Your smile flows down into your legs, your feet, your finger tips. The light warms you, lightens you. There is less weight on your finger tips and you're tempted to let go, to touch the light … indeed, to dissolve into the light.

It seems so easy to let go, to stop grasping, to fall into the light. You are tempted to give up, to give in to the warm glow of peace that envelops you, that seems to lift you. Should you let go? The decision seems to float off, somehow, for there is just inevitability.

You give in. You smile. You unclench your fingers, ready to drop. You give up and wait for the terrifying fall … it doesn't happen. The crumbling cliff and the furious dogs have somehow dissolved into the light and you have gone nowhere. You are still held in the warm light, held and embraced. You are home. You are home at last. There is nothing to do … nothing to do but smile and weep your tears of relief as the light enfolds you as a father's arms around his precious child. There is nothing else to do, my friend, but let go, smile softly and weep thankfully.

This is your moment, my friend. Savour it.

Now, here is another moment for Arthur Bayly, continued from the previous posting ...

"Oh hell!" said Amanda, looking down, sighing. She put down her knife and fork and looked directly at Joan, then at Arthur. The silence was palpable. "Look, I'm really sorry. I've overstepped the mark. I shouldn't have said what I'm working on. I just felt so comfortable with you two - the first two really friendly people I've met in the six months I've been here. I'm so sorry, I just should not have said anything ..."

"Amanda dear, Amanda," said Joan, patting her hand, "it's OK, it really is. We're not police informants, we're not secret agents, we're not going to tell anyone. It's OK dear."

"Oh Joan, Arthur, you're such lovely people and you've had a horrible, shocking day and I go and blab my mouth off!" said Amanda, wiping tears from her face.

"Well, perhaps this is another of those miraculous moments you keep having!" said Arthur, trying to lighten the mood, while wondering how such words found their way into his brain and out his mouth - perhaps he was going mad too. Amanda looked into his eyes and smiled and sighed. Arthur felt quite tearful himself.

"By gosh, Arthur, you're probably right!" exclaimed Joan. "Maybe we're meant to know about this for some reason. It might explain that young Australian man or something ..."

"Yes, maybe you're right, Arthur," said Amanda, wiping the last of her tears as she sat up purposefully. "OK, I can't take back what I've told you and I can't give you any more details. I'd be out of the police force quick smart and no goodbyes! But what you do know is what you saw today, in the middle of Croydon and that, yes AIL is part of our investigation. You're not there any more so you should be fine. But please, please, please don't tell anyone I said any of this. NO ONE. PLEASE!"

"Amanda, dear Amanda, of course we won't," said Joan patting her arm. "And, as long as we can get through the next three days, we'll be fine with my mother's protection after that!" They all giggled. Even Arthur, though that spider had taken a slightly sinister feel in his tummy now. Still, he'd always dreamed of being a secret agent, a James Bond. Maybe this was his chance to savour some secret agenting.

"Look Amanda, I'm not at AIL any more and I ... well, I was there for a long time but I was hardly in any position of power," said Arthur, feeling a stirring of anxiety about what else was going to come out of his disobedient mouth, "but if there is anything you need to know that I can help you with, please do ask. As I said, I don't know any deep and dark secrets there but I might be able to steer you in the right direction. I do know how their systems work and who does what and when and all that. I probably know more than I think I do, if I think about it, after all these years ..."

"Oh Arthur, I really don't want to get you into any trouble," said Amanda seriously. "Some of these people are quite without conscience, quite ... well, quite viscious, if I must be blunt. There's a lot at stake - probably a lot more than I know, actually."

"I think it's time for another cup of tea, don't you?" suggested Joan, obviously more comfortable with spirits and miracles than with criminals. She gathered up the plates and was gone before Amanda or Arthur had a chance to move. They looked at each other and smiled.

"Look Amanda, you could be right that I don't know what I'd be in for," said Arthur. "I know nothing of the criminal world and I definitely don't want to put Joan in danger. But, well, I've had some strange dreams ... or thoughts, I suppose ... about Australia, lately, and then I meet two New Zealand ladies today and then I witness New Zealanders in a police scuffle and then his young Australian man turns up ... oh, I don't know about all this mad spirit stuff but, well, maybe we're not as much in control of our lives as we think ..."

"Yes, Arthur, I think I know what you mean," said Amanda, smiling at his attempts to put meaning to mess.

"Maybe there's a kind of destiny, a sort of inevitability, and certain things are going to happen anyway and the only choice, the only free will we have is how we deal with them. I don't know ..."

"Mmm, I don't about any of that," said Arthur, feeling the conversation turning towards those dark and creepy depths again. "But when I look at my life - and I've been shocked into doing that today - I haven't done much of note. I haven't made much of a splash in the swimming pool of life, if you like. Now maybe, just maybe, this is my chance to do something ... oh, I don't know ... to make a difference, somehow." They both sat looking at each other and, in the silence, they knew no words were necessary. After a moment that seemed to stretch for eternity, Amanda began to cry.

"Oh, Arthur, I wish you had been my father!" she said between sobs. "I know it's an awful thing to say but ... aah, I don't know, I just feel a real connection with you."

--------------------------------

After Amanda left, they both sat down, sighing to each other. The phone stabbed through the peace of the moment, shrill and jarring. Arthur was momentarily stunned and then reluctantly moved to pick it up.

"Where have you been? I've been trying to call you time and again," said Martin, obviously in a mood. "And why don't you get yourselves an answer phone? You really must get up to date and it's so rude not to let people contact you or leave messages. I don't know how many times I've told you about this, why don't you get one ..."

"Martin," Arthur said wearily, wondering who was father and who was son for an instant, his quietness stopping the tirade in mid-stream. "Martin, we don't have one because we don't want one."

"But I've told you, it's so rude and so damned annoying when people really want to contact you and you don't even have mobile phones, like you should and it's like you're in the last century and you really need ..."

"Martin," said Arthur, quietly, "I've had quite enough of this. Now, what is it that you want?"

"Well, yes, it's still so rude and backward not to have an answer phone or a mobile, everyone else has them ..."

"Martin," said Arthur quietly, again. "I'm going to say this one thing and then I'm going to hang up. OK?"

"Uh, oh, OK!" said Martin, surprised by this unaccustomed shortness from his father.

"Now, you haven't told us what you want so I'll tell you where we've been," said Arthur in measured tones. "We've recently got back from the funeral parlour because your grandma died today. I've also lost my job, I think. The funeral is on Thursday and we really hope you and Ruth and the children can all be there. Good night."

No sooner had Arthur sat down, under the admiring gaze of his wife, than the phone screamed again.

"Ah, I'm, ah, I didn't know, Dad," said Martin, coming the closest he ever had to an apology. "We just didn't know."

"Well, now you do, Martin, and we did leave a message on your home answer phone and I left a message with your secretary. I hope you can all be there to support your mother and I," said Arthur. "Now, what was it you wanted us so urgently for?"

"Ah, oh, well, I was wanting to know if you could look after the kids for four days ... Ah hell, I didn't know, I'm really sorry, Dad."

"Yes, so are we, Martin," said Arthur in a more conciliatory tone than before. "So, when would you like us to look after the children?"

"Well, we had hoped we could drop them off first thing in the morning ..." said Martin, trailing off.

"Look Martin, it's been a big day so let me have a talk to Mum and we'll call you back within half an hour. Is that OK?"

"Of course, Dad. That's fine. I'm really so sorry ..."

Later, when Arthur's and Joan's minds had cleared a little, they rang Martin to tell him to bring the children round tomorrow - perhaps they'd provide some pleasant diversion from their current concerns.

8 - The Hurricane We Are

My pen seems to want to continue from day 5 ...

If we're looking for love, we're looking in the wrong direction. If we're looking for peace, we're looking the wrong direction. If we're looking for happiness, we're looking in the wrong direction.

There is nothing outside ourselves. All of these things - love, peace, happiness - are within. They are not what we have inside; they are what we are inside. There is nowhere to look.

The body is a storm, a hurricane. It thrashes about, spinning endlessly, causing harm and mayhem wherever it goes. There is nothing for which we can thank it for; it is a machine of war and is designed but to kill … us.

When we desire attributes for the body - houses, careers, relationships, muscles, locations, fame, fortune - we are on a warpath. Yes, we may get our car and be happy … for an instant. We may have that new relationship and be happy … for an instant. We may move to that new town and be happy … for an instant. But we know that if we make our body-desires our gods, these instants of happiness are fleeting and we're in a constant fight for another, then another and yet another. Love, peace and happiness are never beside a soldier of war, a frenzied, thirsting fighter who can only lay his weapons down for fleeting instants.

There is another way, if we want that which never rusts, rots or withers. This other way is that of the peace-maker who goes within and searches not but knows. All that is eternal is within and never leaves us. We need but remember our source.

In the centre of every hurricane is stillness and that stillness is what we are. That peace is what we are. That abiding happiness, unaffected by the body's (the world's) woes, is what we are, in the centre of the hurricane.

Outside the hurricane, the rest of the world (or the universe) is quite unaffected by the thrashing hurricane we create. We cause our tiny maelstroms but the world (or the universe) doesn't care … doesn't even know.

And, going within, we do not go without.

And is Arthur Bayly feeling any peace?

It was with a light and bouncy heart that he set off for home, preferring the ten-minute walk to being crammed in a tram - a far cry from the previous dread he'd felt about meeting his wife with the upsetting news. In fact, he wanted to skip like a child but, of course, that just wasn't done. Not for an adult. Not for Arthur Bayly. Not in his suit today. That didn't stop his mind skipping along inside a body that carried a battered leather brief case with proper business-like decorum. He couldn't get the silly smile off his face and he worried that other pedestrians might think him mad or, worse, being silly. However, in true London style, no one looked or even pretended to notice.

The short walk seemed even shorter than ever, this time, and as he was turning the corner into Tunstall Road, he came to an abrupt halt. A small crowd and an ambulance, with flashing light, was such a contrast to his light mood. He tried to take the unexpected scene into his mind. As he tried to imagine what could be happening, he realised the ambulance men were carrying a stretcher out of his mother-in-law's house. The covered body on it looked chillingly still. His mind froze. His body froze. It was as if he knew, subconsciously, what was happening, thought his logical mind struggled to put the pieces together. He inched forward, searching the crowd and, soon, his wife came out of the house, ashen-faced.

And then it happened. The massive and persistent hand of God - as he would later describe it - was at his back, pushing him forward. With no choice but to obey, he covered the thirty yards in no time imaginable and had enveloped his wife in an uncharacteristically warm and loving embrace. She resisted, at first, the sudden hug from a stranger but, for the first time ever, he did not yield to her attempt to break free. He stood his ground strongly, lovingly and she quietly gave into his embrace, such was her need and such was his insistence.

He was, of course, surprised at his decisive action and the warmth he felt inside. He was vaguely aware of other people fussing about him but he felt no concern for them. His only thoughts were for the woman in his arms - the woman, he realised, who he loved so much and who needed his love and nothing else in this moment. He surprised himself as these old feelings of affection arose and expressed themselves so strongly. His wife, usually the forceful one, melted into his arms and nothing needed to be said. As their envelope of silent togetherness gathered round them, the outside world disappeared and they knew each other better than they ever had before. It was as if all the millions of words over the years had - instead of explaining and uniting them - confused and separated them.

Reluctantly they separated, looking at each other, knowing they must allow the rest of the world to intrude.

"Oh, Arthur …" said Joan softly, wanting to express what could not be put into words.

"It's OK, love, I'm here," said Arthur, knowing this was more important than anything - his job, his future, their future. This moment. He knew he must savour it, cherish it, remember it.

"Ah, excuse me, Mrs Bayly," said an ambulance driver, coming as close as their envelope of silence would allow, "we'll take the, er, your mother now, ma'am. We will need you to come and complete the paper-work for us - today, if possible."

"Yes, yes," Joan said, unable to keep the crack out of her voice and the tears from flowing.

"Thank you young man," said Arthur, with unaccustomed authority, "I'll bring my wife down to the hospital …"

"No Sir, the funeral parlour, in Orchard Road," said the ambulance driver.

"Oh, ah, yes, to the funeral parlour, as soon as we can," said Arthur with his arm still around Joan's shoulders and a grip of fear around his gut with the mention of the word funeral. "We both need a little time to ourselves and then we'll walk over."

"Thank you, Sir," said the young man, "just when you can make it. There's no hurry, none at all."

"Thank you so much," said Arthur, thinking with remarkable clarity. "Now, Dear, I'll lock your mother's house and we'll pop home for a cup of tea and a sit."

"Mmm, yes," said Joan quietly, apparently happy to hand over control for a change.

As they settled in their favourite lounge chairs, Joan suddenly looked up at Arthur who was placing a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits on her side-table. "Arthur, I've just realised … what are you doing here, now?" she asked. "I got Dottie, our neighbour, to ring your office but that was only half an hour ago."

"Yes Dear, it's been quite a day hasn't it. Quite a day," said Arthur, sitting down with his cup of tea and wondering where to start and how much to say right now. "I, er, left work early today. I would have been on my way here when she rang, I suppose."

"But, Arthur, you've never left early before. Is something wrong?" asked Joan, realising she may not be the only one with problems.

"Well, yes, I'm afraid there is, my dear," said Arthur, still struggling with what details to reveal. "I was made redundant." He waited for her attack …

"Oh dear, oh dear," said Joan, not quite comprehending anything beyond her own shock and grief.

"It's OK, love, we can talk about it later," said Arthur, aware that she was unable to absorb much else at the moment. He was, also, quite relieved to have said the worst of it and avoided the terrible scene he had played out in his mind, several hours earlier at work. He was relieved, too, not to have to continue further explanations and tempt fate.

As he thought of his previous dread of this moment, it all seemed so far away - commuting, work, the interview, the shock - and it seemed to matter so little that he wondered how it could have mattered before.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" asked Arthur.

"Oh, ah, well, I just went up there to see how she was - she hadn't called me," said Joan as her tears started again.

"Leave it for now if you like, Love," said Arthur tenderly.

"No, I want you to know … there's not much to tell, really," said Joan, wiping her eyes, determined to go on. "I knocked and there was no answer. That was unusual. I heard nothing inside, absolutely nothing. I had this horrible feeling in my stomach, that something was wrong …" she said as another sob interrupted her story. Her crying subsided; she wiped her eyes and sat upright. "I've just got to tell you now, Love. There's not much to say but it doesn't seem real, somehow. You know …"
"Yes dear, I do know," said Arthur, smiling a little as he recalled his own unreal experience that morning.

"Mmm, I think you do," said Joan with unaccustomed insight into her husband's thoughts. She blew her nose, sat up and started again. "I used my key, got in and found her on the floor of her lounge, beside her card table. You know, I always thought I'd scream or run away or do something dramatic when that happened. I always knew it would happen sometime, obviously … it just, I just stood there and looked and looked. I knew a big part of me was lost, gone forever. I felt sort-of empty, dead, but … but complete somehow, too. I can't explain it."

"Gosh," said Arthur, wanting to say something but not sure what. Some people just had the knack of saying the right things but he had never acquired it, he thought.

"But, you know, love," said Joan, dabbing her eyes, "it's not nice finding your mother, well, like that. Not nice at all but, well, yes, I was shocked and empty, somehow, but also … I can't quite explain it … I just felt fully complete, yes fully complete. That's all I can say. Strange really …"

"Quite, yes, fully complete," said Arthur, savouring the phrase as if it was a new food he was tasting for the first time. Perhaps that's how he felt after his news at work today - shocked, frightened, maybe even angry. A little bit angry. And, yes, if he had to admit it, a sense of completeness, even peace, seemed to pervade. It certainly wasn't logical but it was undeniable - completeness and peace - there were no other words for it.

"Arthur Dear, why are you smiling?" asked Joan with curiosity, not annoyance.

"Oh, I'm sorry dear," said Arthur, feeling a trifle embarrassed to be smiling at such an inopportune time. "I'm not quite sure but you said you felt a sense of completeness. It is so very illogical, at a time like this bit it does seem oddly right. I'm not sure how, but it does. I'm certainly not smiling at you dear."

"I know you're not, darling. I know that," said Joan as a smile sneaked onto her face. "I know I'm supposed to be sad and that I should be gnashing and wailing and making a scene but I don't feel like that now. I do feel sad and shocked - it was so unexpected - but I can't deny the completeness thing inside. I feel a weeny bit guilty for it. Maybe I'll feel the full impact later, when it all sinks in."

"Mmm, maybe you will; maybe we both will," said Arthur, feeling a complete empathy with his wife's explanation. "These things are supposed to make us feel the worst, have us behaving the worst but there is this odd sense of rightness to it all. You agree?"

"Absolutely, my Love, absolutely!" said Joan feeling less lonely in her unaccustomed feelings. "Oh, Arthur, can I have a hug please?"

"Oh, ah, yes Dear," said Arthur, wondering when he'd last heard those words - maybe during their honeymoon. As they stood and hugged, Arthur could feel the sense of completeness grow imperceptibly. He also felt something else grow a little - a nice but slightly embarrassing movement below his belt. But there were things to be attended to.